Seventh Day of Christmas - The World Ballet
by Elsyra
Summary: Seventh story in the Twelve Days of Christmas series. Russia is in charge of selecting this year's Christmas performance for his fellow countries. Cue many ridiculous arguments and shenanigans. Human names eventually used. RusCan, background USUK. #Holiday Cheer #MapleSunflower #CanadaisBaller


A/N: Happy Holidays, ya'all!

This is the **seventh** fic in my Twelve Days of Christmas jamboree. It may be read as a stand-alone, but feel free to check out part three, which is another fun Hetalia fic (USUK-centric). If you choose to read other parts of this series, keep in mind that none of them technically need to be read in order _with the exception of_ days 9 and 10.

 _Gratzi_ , _merci_ , _danke_ , and _arigatou_ to AuroraBorealia, my fabulous bestie and beta reader!

Tags: 12 Days of Christmas, Swans a'swimming, Country Shenanigans, RusCan, USUK.

Enjoy, friends!

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 _On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me..._

 _Seven swans a'swimming_

 _Six geese a'laying_

 _Five golden rings..._

 _Four colly birds,_

 _Three French hens_

 _Two turtle doves_

 _And a partridge in a pear tree_

"Dude, I think the World Ballet can convene! Solving all of today's problems by dancing excessively. No matter how hard it seems, we can fix anything with enough rehearsals and photo ops. Feel free to speak honestly about which roles you want, but I'll go first because I'm the hero and heros get the lead part!"

Germany growled, clenching his fists tightly around black leather gloves. He already hated the fact that they had to do this in the first place. America was just making it worse.

All around the World Conference Room-which had been converted into two separate practice rooms-nations stretched, testing out their leotards. Most of them had gone for the usual black ensemble, minus the flared skirt. All except France, who of course chose a nude color.

Nobody needed to see that. France disagreed.

To everyone's relief, Britain had snagged a blue tutu from the costume rack and forced the eccentric nation to wear it.

Now that everyone had settled down somewhat, it was time to make the dreaded choice: which ballet would each team perform?

If only Russia had let them do opera instead. But noooo; the large nation in charge of this year's Christmas competition _had_ to pick ballet. The Axis versus the Allies in a supreme ballet battle.

Russia let the Axis pick first. He held out a Santa Clause hat filled with popular titles. All eyes fastened themselves on Italy as he eagerly plunged into the pool of tiny papers.

"Ooh, the Nutcracker? That'll be-a so much fun!"

Japan jumped in recognition. "Oh, that is the one with big mouse, right-o?"

From across the dance studio, hazel-green eyes bored into the asian man with passionate ferocity. "If Japan is a mouse, then I will be a cat."

" _Nein_ , Greece, there is no cat in zhis ballet!"

While the Axis Powers organized themselves in their half of the mirrored room, the Allied nations were left bickering amongst themselves.

Britain was the first to complain, complete with pout that would do toddlers everywhere proud. "I don't see why we couldn't pick first. Everyone knows I would make the best Nutcracker."

"Bruh, just because your conspicuous red soldier getup is _basically_ the Buttcracker's costume doesn't mean you should get the lead," America snorted

"Da, is true. Britain is being far too short to be Nutcracker. How sad for you." The Russian's face certainly didn't _look_ sorry. "He could play the boy prince at the end, though."

"I'm not that short, you damn wanker! Alfred, you should have been Clara. That way we could dance together at the end."

"Do I _look_ like I'd fit in a little girl's nightie? Liechtenstein probs woulda been a better choice."

The Brit pondered thoughtfully with his hand resting on his gentlemanly chin. "Ah, that's right. Not that it matters. Switzerland won't let his poor little sister participate because of their 'permanent neutrality.' What rubbish; I'm sure she would have enjoyed dancing with us. One less man forced into a dress."

On one of the mirrored walls, France was doing such a complex stretch with the bar that it made most of the other men cringe. "I 'ate to burst your bubble, _mon cher,_ but even zhe men's costumes are fabulously feminine in ballet. If it's not zhe tutu, it's zhe sparkles. _C'est dommage!_ I would 'ave made zhe perfect Sugar Plum Fairy! None of you are beautiful enough to pull it off." He made a show of flipping his long golden locks in the non-existent wind.

A sudden death grip on their shoulders stopped the two whinging nations in their tracks. "No more complaining," Russia commanded. "Now ve will be announcing our ballet. Vhy don't you pick, Matvey?"

Shocked that he was actually recognized for once, Canada gasped. While the onlookers stared expectantly, he approached the hat and from it drew another title. "Swan Lake, eh? That's a nice one."

"Hey, France!" America guffawed, poorly stifling his laughter in the crook of his arm, "you can still play the Fairy Queen! Hahahahaha."

China cocked his head to the side. "Ai ya, I don't think that's right. There no fairy queen in Swan Lake." He looked to his left for some advice from his panda pal. "Panda says you are thinking of the crap Barbie version. My version better." He held out a DVD for the American to examine.

"Dude, total rip-off."

"More importantly, where the hell were you hiding that DVD!?" Britain demanded. He didn't get an answer. China was too busy defending his "artwork."

Scooching over towards the center of the dance studio-where the arguments were _not_ happening-Canada huffed a sigh of dismay. They were here to put on a ballet and kick the other team's butt! Not squabble like children.

He was glad to note that Russia also refrained from arguing… until a creepy violet aura wafted off of the ivory-haired nation in threatening waves. From a glance at his happy, cat-like eyes, one could never guess the extent of Russia's rage. No one volunteered to test it.

"You vill all shut up now, da?"

The smaller nations quickly fell in line. They may have grumbled a little, but it was good enough for now.

" _Спасибо (Spasibo)_. I decide the cast. For now we six are elegant svans. You vill dance and I vill avard parts based on your skill or lack thereof."

Britain raised his hand in the air. "I say, Russia, what about your Baltic friends?"

" _Ivan_. Dancers must give each other their complete trust, especially for the partner dances. Ve vill use human names. My underlings are three signets; they vill join us later for full cast rehearsal. The poorest dancer of you all vill be fourth signet. Any more questions?"

The Allies looked around at each other and shook their heads. Nobody dared voice their mutual concern: Latvia, Lithuania, and Estonia had performed the classic signet number (minus one) during the Plutonian invasion. If flipping _aliens_ didn't like it, why would human judges find it any more appealing!?

Seeing as Russia-okay, _Ivan_ -didn't give them a choice, it was time to focus and strut their stuff!

Aflred flashed his friends a hundred-watt grin and jumped into the center of the floor, shoving his brother to the side. "Being the hero that I am, I've decided to save all of you sissies by going first. Watch me and my brave self as I audition for the part of Prince What's-His-Name!"

"It's Seigfried!" To everyone's surprise, Sealand-otherwise known as Peter Kirkland-came bounding into the room with an armful of costumes.

"What the the Queen's name are you doing here, you tiny bugger!?"

"I'm being helpful, jerk-face! Mister Toris asked me to give you these so that you could get into character. I think they're perfect!" The adorable-yet-annoying micronation beamed at them all as he passed out white leotards with hoods. Each hood was equipped with a tall swan head that jutted out from the wearer's crown.

Ivan shut down any protests before they could happen; he even managed to prevent Francis from going on strike! Each of them layered the swan costumes onto their normal leotards and changed into matching white ballet slippers. Meanwhile, Ivan kicked Peter out of the studio.

"Yo, Yao, your feet are so incredibly small, dude. What are you, a size six?"

"Small feet are sign of refinement and poise, not like you understand. Our women used to bind feet to make smaller. At least I not have feet like elephant. Too big to make good shoe," the eldest nation sniffed proudly, adjusting his (size five) slippers at the heels.

"You know what they say! Big feet, big-mmph!"

Arthur promptly covered his boyfriend's mouth before he could say anything stupid.

"He was only gonna say 'stomach,' eh," Matthew insisted, his voice brimming with heartfelt innocence. "It's like the saying 'big hands, big heart,' except it's 'big feet, big stomach.'"

"If only," Arthur muttered darkly.

Unfortunately, the Axis Powers had already claimed Roderich to help them rehearse with live piano music, so the six of them were forced to play Swan Lake's main theme on Ivan's crappy speakers. No one argued with Alfred, who yet again insisted on going first. They watched him glide across the hardwood floors with, perhaps, a bit more flair than needed for the prince's role. And some impromptu jazz-esque movements stuffed in there.

"Ta-da!" the other nations clapped politely, none of them louder than Arthur, whose cheeks were tinted pink with pride (and likely mild arousal).

"Good job. Next!" Ivan called out bluntly.

"Hey! Aren't you gonna tell me what part I get? I'm totally Prince Stephan material."

"Seigfried. And _nyet_ , I vill not tell you until all have gone. Artur, you go next."

The green-eyed nation spluttered and wrung his hands. "But-I-"

"What is zhe matter, _mon ami?_ Performance issues? Honhonhon~"

"Leave him alone, Francey-pants. You can do it, babe! " Alfred leaned over and kissed Arthur's cheek. " _Be the swan!_ " he stage whispered.

Arthur's number started out a little stiff, but once he relaxed into the music he pirouetted like a champ. They could feel his palpable relief when the song ended.

Yao went next. He favored moves that showed off his flexibility and creativity. He even incorporated Panda into his routine by balancing the bear on various parts of his body with precise skill.

To no one's surprise, Francis' entry was an elegant repertoire filled with complicated jumps and twirls. Though the extent of his splits made his unwitting viewers uncomfortable as they imagined the horrible pain he must be experiencing.

All in all, the Allies made for a very eclectic group of non-identical swans. They were about to gather and demand a cast list when Ivan shushed them with a single finger pressed against his lips.

"Matvey. Your turn, _мой подсолнух (moy podsolnukh)._ "

The younger nation blushed and shyly took his place center stage. From the audience, Alfred rudely yawned and was promptly smacked by his boyfriend.

"Um, hey guys. I'm Cana-I mean, Matthew. I'll be trying out for the principle role now," he announced softly, waving to Ivan from his starting position. The Russian pressed play on his laptop.

Jaws dropped. Although no one usually noticed Matthew at the world meetings, they were forced to pay attention to the graceful, gentle nation now. And boy, had they been missing out.

Matthew's moves were bold, yet delicate; poised, yet edgy; precise, yet flowing together like a crystal clear river. He was the swan.

"Okay. Ve are done now."

Poor Matthew hadn't even finished the last few bars. He hung his head in disappointment while the other nations clamoured with noise.

"So, I'm totes the prince guy, right?"

"No one asked you, 'First World Problems!"

"If anyone is _le prince magnifique_ , it should be _moi!_ "

"I still think we should have done The Nutcracker instead of this bloody joke."

" _Молчи (Molchi)_ , be quiet," Ivan commanded. "Matvey vill be lead."

"What!? No fair!"

"Is completely fair," Ivan argued, "Matvey's dance vas best. You agree, da?"

"It was cool, I guess," Alfred begrudgingly admitted. "Nice routine, bro," he added, patting his twin on the shoulder.

"Thanks, Al."

"So who is prince?" Yao asked impatiently, bouncing Panda on his heels.

" _Nyet._ The joke is that none of you are the prince. That is me."

The entire room collectively groaned.

Arthur ripped off his swan suit impatiently. "Bloody hell, does this mean the rest of us are forced to play girls!? And what about Matthew? You just promised him the damn lead!"

"Um, the lead is a girl, sir. Her name is Odette. She's also double-cast as Odiele, the black swan," Matthew explained. But no one was really listening to him anymore, except Ivan.

"Matvey vill be beautiful swan princess. Rest of you are supporting cast. Francis, you vill play regal queen mother. Yao vill be court jester. Artur can play villian-ve vill color your eyebrows and hair black for performance. Fredka vill be Prince's tutor."

"What!? Dude, what even is that lame-ass role!?"

"You have glasses and are only one tall enough to look like adult next to me." Ivan hummed, greatly amused at himself.

Francis gushed and hugged Matthew to his chest. " _Mon précieux bébé!_ You get your talent for dance from _my_ side of the family. We shall steal zhe show and put zhose Axis Powers to shame!"

Giving the French nation a withering glare, Ivan walked over, picked him up, and placed him several meters' distance from Matthew. "All of you, get to practicing. Ve vill pick up blocking tomorrow."

This year, the Allies competed against the Axis' performance of _The Nutcracker_ , featuring Feliciano as their principle, Kiku as little Clara, and Ludwig as the Nutcracker himself. The win was given to the Allies' _Swan Lake,_ mainly because Feliciano got his team disqualified by taking too many creative liberties: he changed the Sugar Plum Fairy to the Box of Tomatoes Fairy and lost it for Axis. The judging was probably rigged anyway.

 _Fine._ _終わり_ _. Ende. Конец. Fin._ _結束_

 _The End._

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Feel free to spread some holiday cheer in the comments if you like. Any and all flames will fuel the fire by which my characters snuggle with their significant others (and friends!).

Happy (almost) New Year!


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